Hospital For Souls
by demetrifever123
Summary: When Sam moved to Santa Carla, he wasn't expecting much - but upon his arrival, he begins experiencing things he never thought he would experience; his jumbled, Seer mind is clear, all thanks to a certain someone. But Sam soon finds that he becomes too wrapped up in the boys' dangerous lives, and the only way out is bloody, deadly, and rather sexy. Sam/David, slight AU
1. Prologue

Trolololol. Here I am! Back for the first time in what feels like forever but was probably not really that long ago. XD Oh well. It feels great. This was originally going to be a remake of Tell Me What I Can't See, but so far what I'm planning for it is going to be so different that I can't really call it a remake at all. It's its own separate story! Yay! :D

I'm going to be messing around with vampire etiquette, mythology and the likes in this, so if I add something that's like WHOA THAT'S NOT TRUE IN THE MOVIE well...it's because I'm making it up, haha. Trolol, you see? There won't be any Twilight vampires, though. These boys are staying badass. They're just going to have a lot more rules to obey, if you know what I mean. ;)

This is dedicated to my friend Taragh McCarthy! :D I hope you enjoy this, dear. ^.^

* * *

_The days are a death wish_

_A witch hunt for an exit_

_I am powerless…_

.

Silence.

The silence was sharp – sharper than any silence ever was. Every second of every minute, every minute of every hour, it grew fatter. Sam never thought that _nothing _could be so unbearable. After all, at one point he had relished it – held the nothingness in the palm of his hand delicately and prayed it never went anywhere. What felt like too short of a time span, was the best shortest time in his life. When it felt like ages had passed between then and now, he reminded himself it had only been a few weeks. But no matter how long ago it felt, Sam remembered every detail—every word, color, scent, sound… Everything. But the nothingness that was but no longer is threatened to take away those details. And Sam wouldn't be able to bear it if he lost them.

He walked slowly, deliberately, down the hall. Everything seemed to be washed of all color – a throw-back to the 50s. The hall was long, with various shadows cast along it from the flickering ceiling lights. The lights were circular and bright, but projected downwards only, so the corners were darker than most people would be comfortable with. Sam, however, had grown accustomed to darkness in the last several months.

He was the only one wearing a white patient's gown; the others in the hall wore the uniforms of nurses and doctors. The silence was so painful he questioned whether he had gone deaf between the trek from his room to here. The employees gave him questioning looks as he passed, but this place was under a very tight lock-and-key and littered with watchful eyes; he wasn't going anywhere he wasn't supposed to.

Sam made a left turn down the hall – the only option he had, other than turning around, since the floors were squared. A middle-aged man exited a room towards the end of this new, dull hall, and walked in Sam's direction a few paces. He stopped, seeming surprised at Sam's presence, but shook it off and waited for the young man to make his way towards him.

Sam stood in front of the doctor, expression blank. He looked small and thin next to the significantly taller man, but still healthy – a promising sight. The doctor said nothing; he merely led Sam back to the door he had recently emerged from, turned the handle, and gently guided the blonde through.

Michael stood abruptly, as soon as he laid eyes on his younger brother. He nodded to the doctor, who gave a small smile and quietly shut the door once more. The licensed man was watching them, leaning against the painted wood, but thankfully he was keeping to himself. Sam was only able to take several steps towards his brother before the dark-haired man met him more than halfway; he was crushed in a bear hug, unable to breathe, before he could even open his arms to hug Michael back.

A wide, toothy smile split across Sam's face at seeing Michael. The older male only looked down at him grimly once he pulled away, hands still resting on Sam's shoulders. "You're okay." It wasn't a question – simply a verification. Michael looked Sam up and down, as if the boy would have garnered physical wounds the short few days he had been in the institution.

Sam nodded, and brushed his bangs to the side. His hair had grown longer than he had ever allowed it to; his bangs swept into his eyes constantly, and his hair now fully covered his ears. Not long for Michael—or any of the boys he had grown to call family, for that matter. But long for Sam, nonetheless. He hadn't realized he needed a hair cut until they put him in here. He had so little to do, way too much time was spent playing with the shaggy locks.

Michael couldn't help but allow a small smile at the action, and removed his hands from Sam's shoulders. They both sat down at the table that was set up in the middle of the room – a grey, rectangular surface with two metal chairs opposite each other. Michael spun his chair around and sat on it backwards, crossing his arms on the edge of the table. He was trying to make the atmosphere as casual as he could, considering they were being monitored at all times and the room wasn't cozy in the least. Sam didn't look uncomfortable, though. Subdued, compared to usual, but not stiff.

"How is everyone?" Sam asked, leaning forward on the table and smiling broadly at his brother. "I bet you're all missin' me."

"Like crazy," Michael confirmed with a soft chuckle. "Even though it's technically been only a week."

Sam paused, and some of the zest on his smile evaporated. "A week?" Michael's own grin disappeared and he nodded solemnly. "But…" It felt like it had been two, maybe three days. If he was so bored in here, how come he had _lost _so much time?

A small silence fell upon them, and Michael quickly pushed forward; they only had an hour. "Mom's been upset, but she's trying to take time off work to come visit you. The hours are really tight here. Seven to eight at night – only that hour." He shook his head. "Kind of unreasonable, don't you think?"

"Mom's been upset?" Sam hadn't talked to Lucy much lately. In fact, he had talked to her as little as any other teenage boy in the last year or so. He never stopped to think what she might be feeling right now. A really horrible thing to forget about, he realized.

Michael hesitated, a little taken aback by the backtracking. "Yeah," he said slowly. "But she's been working a lot. Keeping herself busy. Grandpa's keeping her company." Sam nodded. That was good, at least…

"What about the others?" He was the most curious about them. The last he had been able to talk to them, the situation was a little shaky. Worry that he had failed them began to settle in, and he swallowed thickly. Were they all right? Had that man been the last they needed to worry about, or was he one of many and Sam's intervention was pointless?

A blank look answered him. "Mike," Sam said. But Michael was looking at him; he was here, grounded in this room, listening to Sam. The brunette just wasn't answering. "Mike? How is everybody?"

When Michael opened his mouth but there was still no reply, Sam reached forward and grabbed his brother's hand desperately. "Mike, I need to know!"

"Sammie," he said quietly. "I don't know who you're talking about."

Sam blinked. "What the hell are you on? Yes you do."

"No," Michael insisted, his voice dropping to a mere whisper; they still had ears listening in. "I don't."

The blonde just stared at him, mouth open, disbelieving. He started to say something, but the words drifted off and he never fully began whatever he was going to say. Sam looked down at their hands; his was placed on top of Michael's larger, tanner one. And on his wrist, tied securely but carefully, was a bracelet.

It might have been considered girly, for a man to wear such decoration, but Sam knew Michael didn't mind it. He loved it, in fact. It was composed of several intricately tied strings – navy blue, maroon, forest green and grey. The knots were tiny but formed little stars, making anyone studying it wonder how it had been made. Very skillful hands had created it, indeed. And almost tucked underneath Michael's wrist, attached to the string, was an inch-long canine tooth.

Sam retracted his hand as if he'd been burned. "I can't believe you." He glowered at his brother, who looked at him apologetically. Sam stood and swiftly turned to leave.

"Sammie—"

"We're done," Sam told the doctor. He nodded and opened the door, allowing Sam to leave promptly. Michael stood by his chair, hurt and shock displayed by his expression and posture. It took him a full minute to gather himself. He sighed, straightened his back, and allowed the doctor to escort him out of the building.

_He's lying. He's lying. He's a fucking liar. _

Sam chanted the words to himself over and over again as he paced his room in irritation.

"_Liar, liar, liar!"_

He threw himself down on his bed, elbows on his knees and hands gripping his hair.

The bracelet… Michael had to be lying. There was no way the last how many months hadn't happened. No way. No way…

The silence in the room—in the whole institution—gnawed away at his sanity, making his head swirl with memories that had to be true. His best friend, his family, his mate…they were somewhere. They had to be. Or the silence in his mind would cease to match the quiet of his room, and his visions would return—and then, Sam would truly lose his mind. He knew he would. He had nearly lost it before…

.

_The fragile, the broken_

_Sit in circles and stay unspoken_

_We are powerless…_


	2. Chapter One

**Thank you all so much for the feedback so far! :D I'm going to enjoy writing this one. ^.^ This chapter is a little on the short side, but I made it as long as I could without spilling over into what's going to be an interesting chapter two. ;) **

* * *

Of all the places they had lived in, Santa Carla had to be the freakiest. But to be honest, that wasn't saying much; they were coming from a small town out of state, after all. Michael sighed as he looked out the rolled-down window; wind rushed in and swirled around the car, playing with the ends of his unkempt hair. The smell of sea salt and something unidentifiable but unpleasant assaulted his nose; he wasn't used to the scent of beaches, coming from dry Arizona.

It was hot here. Not as hot as the scorched desert he was coming from, but enough to make sweat form on Michael's back. He squinted his eyes through the bright sun, probably appearing pissed off to anyone who glanced through the window at him as they passed through the city. But no one did look at them; all the weirdos walking the streets, they all kept their eyes to themselves. It was nice, Michael thought. They were never awarded anything like that in Duncan. That was due mostly to Sam, his younger brother—but Michael had to admit that he, himself, never blended in either.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother peek at Sam in the back seat through the rearview mirror. She didn't frown, necessarily, but she didn't smile either. Sam was staring off into space as usual; that was normal by now, to Michael. But for Lucy, who had only seen her children on and off for the last few years, she wasn't sure what to make of it. When she had moved to Santa Carla for work-related reasons, leaving Sam and Michael with their butch of a father, she had been convinced that Sam was going through a phase. It started when he was ten, and as far as Michael knew, it had never gone away, nor gotten better. The thing that was "wrong" (Michael preferred the term "different") with Sam was between the blonde boy and his brother.

Of course, she was worried—Michael knew that she had to be. She was a hard-working mother who did what she needed to make ends meet, and focused on little else. It might be a slight inconvenience to her, to have them staying with her now that she was getting so far ahead in her time-consuming career, but inside of her, there was probably a piece that was glad they were coming to live with her now; maybe she could work on helping her youngest son.

Michael didn't like thinking such thoughts, though; it wasn't like there was something defective with Sam that they were going to attempt to fix. There was just…something weird going on. Something unexplainable, that only Michael had been willing to accept. Their father blamed it all on Sam being an insufferable brat. "Who develops ADD or autism or whatever the fuck this is at ten?" as the gruff man had said. He was right on the last part; it couldn't be anything like that. But what Sam had was nothing like ADD or autism, Michael knew. How their father had related it to that, he had no clue. But the man was never very bright to begin with.

Lucy had blocked most of it out, passing it off as a phase that would disappear the next time she came to visit. Michael had tried explaining to her what was really going on, but the stubborn woman was having nothing of it. He hadn't mentioned anything to her about it since, for Sam's sake.

They were driving down a long, dirt road that seemed to be on the outskirts of the city. It overlooked the water, but thankfully there was a cliff in place of a beach; there wouldn't be any weirdos wandering onto their property to snag a spot in the sand.

Lucy parked outside of the old house she grew up in, which she currently shared with her father. As Michael grabbed both his and Sam's duffle bags, he wondered where their grandfather was. They had only met on several occasions, since they lived a significant distance apart and the old man never liked leaving his property. That was just fine with Michael, though. The man was crazy, and Michael noticed he rubbed Sam the wrong way every time they were in the same room together, for reasons unknown to him.

As soon as they entered the stuffy house, Sam made a beeline up the stairs and into the first room on the right, as if he already knew that was going to be his room and he just wanted to lie down again. Michael knew Sam had very intense headaches that went along with his uncanny…perception—so he didn't blame his brother for behaving in such an "antisocial" way, as his mother had just commented to herself.

Michael opened up Sam's door, saw the blonde was lying on his back on the bare mattress with his arms pressed tightly against his eyes, and quietly set the duffle bag on the floor. He shut the door again gently, careful not to make any noises that would cause his younger brother any more discomfort.

His room was separated from Sam's with a bathroom that, after some inspection of the layout, they would be sharing. Michael felt like he should know the layout of his grandfather's house—but they had only been there when they were much younger, only three or four times. And even then, they had slept downstairs in the living room; his grandfather was weird about letting people into certain parts of his house.

Michael tossed his bag unceremoniously on the floor, leapt back down the stairs three at a time, and went straight for the front door. He fingered his keys in his jacket pocket and grinned to himself in anticipation. He wanted to take a ride through Santa Carla with his bike, to check out what the large city had to offer. He didn't even wait to hear what Lucy had to say about him leaving so abruptly; he jogged out the front door, down the stairs, and to the back of Lucy's truck. His bike was waiting for him. Michael tore off the tarp they had placed over it, smiling at the gleaming silver that winked proudly back at him. Oh, how he loved this bike.

He manhandled the bike out of the truck bed with some effort and propped it up on the ground. After marveling it for another moment, he got himself situated on it, started it up, and drove off down the road.

* * *

Michael wasn't out for very long—a little over two hours, if his watch was correct. He returned because he knew the sun would be setting in another hour, and while he wasn't a goody two-shoes, he wasn't going to start staying out all night already when he finally would be able to see more of Lucy. Plus, he was curious what was for dinner.

He barely pulled into the driveway before he caught sight of Sam bounding out of house, straight towards him. There was a fleeting moment of panic as Michael began to wonder what was wrong. He didn't cut his engine at the start of the driveway; he rode the bike right up to Sam, eyes wide and questioning. "Sam—?"

"Mike!" Sam shouted, and threw his arms around his brother's neck tightly. The blonde was hysterical, but Michael realized that it wasn't in panic or fear; he was giddy to the point of being frantic, which brought out a whole other feeling of worry in Michael.

Before he could say another word, Sam pulled back and gave him the biggest, happiest, brightest smile Michael had ever seen on him. It melted his heart a little, and while it was great…he had to wonder, why? Just how much had he missed?

"Canyoutakemetothecity?" Sam asked in a jumbled frenzy, nearly humming with excitement as he already went to climb on behind Michael.

"Uh…"

"MyheadacheisgoneandIfeel _so much better!_" Sam gushed. "I can think! I can hear! I…" He sounded nearly on the verge of tears, mixed in with his abnormal giddiness. "Let's go!" He squeezed Michael's sides and placed his chin on his brother's shoulder, waiting not-so-patiently. Michael turned his head to the front porch to see Lucy standing there, her expression unreadable. They exchanged a long look, and then Michael revved his engine and turned his bike around.


	3. Chapter Two

The heat from earlier that day had retreated almost entirely by seven o' clock, when they reached the heart of the city. Michael could feel the chilling January night air on his face as they rode down the street, numbing his nose and chin. It was the temperature that caused Michael to pull over prematurely and park his bike; he didn't want Sam, who was decked in a thin t-shirt, to freeze before they had even gotten around to seeing anything. After offering Sam his jacket – which Sam only accepted on the third request – they began down the busy sidewalk.

The sheer number of people was overwhelming to the two boys, who were used to seeing only several people on the street at a time—and they had always seen the same old faces. Here, everybody was different, yet each person fit into the big picture perfectly. The different hair colors, makeup, accessories, piercings, tattoos, clothing (or lack of, in some cases)…nobody seemed to mind because it all coincided with Santa Carla's general crowd. It was astonishing, to say the least.

"Did you see the guy with the bird on his shoulder?" Sam half-whispered, half-yelled.

Even though Sam wasn't exactly being quiet about it, Michael struggled to hear what he had said. This crowd was just as obnoxious as it was freaky, and he found himself pushing through more than a few people that were in his way. He questioned his decision to leave his bike on the side of the road, even though he had taken the keys. And after seeing the murmuring parrot guy and the stoic group of teenagers with gaudy makeup and black clothing, he realized he should probably make this quick.

Well, as quick as he could make this little trip without disappointing Sam, that is.

Before Michael could ask what Sam wanted to look at, the blonde was grabbing his brother by his wrist and yanking him through the doors of a little store with jewelry displayed in the window.

The shop was tightly packed with racks of different necklaces, bracelets, earrings and the like—so packed that Sam couldn't tell just how large the store was. It seemed like all the clothing, jewelry, and miscellaneous items were never-ending. The air smelled surprisingly sweet, very unlike the stale air of most shops of this layout. The lights above were dim but illuminated everything clearly enough that the items could be made out. Dim and old; one in particular was busted, while another flickered occasionally.

As Sam examined the store, leaving Michael's side while the brunette looked over some watches, he noticed several lanterns placed in the corners of the store. There was a bench to one wall, where two young, blonde men sat. They both wore vacant expressions and dark sunglasses. They never moved, and Sam could have sworn they didn't even breathe once. He figured if they were dead the store would probably smell, though, so he just assumed they were both stoned and moved on, completely unfazed.

He spotted a display of earrings that caught his attention and began sifting through the diverse selection. He was gently fingering a pair of light blue feathers when he heard from behind him, "Last I checked you don't wear earrings, Sammie."

Sam jumped, having not heard Michael approach, and then smiled at him. "I think I want my ears pierced."

"Really? Why?"

He shrugged. "Why not?"

Michael couldn't find a reason to disagree with that. "I'll take you somewhere to get it done if you want."

Sam beamed at him and surprised Michael with a crushing hug. He gasped for air and Sam let him go after a moment, so he could grab the blue feather earrings. It took a moment to weave their way to the small counter that must be where they paid. There was no cash register, but there was a tan, dark-haired man standing behind the wooden surface. His hair was moussed, much like one of the stoned blondes on the bench, and he had strong facial features that contributed to the serious expression he wore.

Sam held up the earrings. "How much for these?"

"A dollar." Michael was getting a dollar bill out of his wallet when the man added, "I can pierce your ears for you, if you'd like." Michael paused and gave the man a questioning look. There was a small quirk on the corner of the man's thin lips for a second, and then it disappeared and his face was serious again. "I noticed the lack of holes in his ears."

Sam smiled. "Su—"

"How much?" his brother interrupted. Sam gave him a pointed look.

"For you?" The dark-haired man that couldn't have been a few years older than Michael looked at them both for a moment. "I could do it for free."

"Awesome!" His face nearly split in half with his smile when he saw the man reach behind the counter to grab a little kit. Sam's eyes twinkled when he saw the needle. Michael cringed away from it. The whole time Sam was getting the needle driven through his earlobes, Michael wondered how his brother could do it without his smile faltering at all. He never even flinched. It was very odd, and the man doing the piercing obviously thought so as well. He never said anything about it, though. In fact, he never said much at all.

When they left, Sam was as happy as ever, his ears were an angry red, and Michael was missing a dollar. He checked his wallet to make sure he still had enough money to at least buy them some food. "I need a job," he muttered to himself.

"What?"

"I only have five bucks," Michael explained. "I should probably apply somewhere."

"You could apply there," Sam suggested, pointing towards a video store they were passing by that had HELP WANTED tacked onto the door. "Discounted movies!" He laughed and skipped ahead several feet. Passing by that store reminded Sam that he needed to see a movie as soon as possible. He hadn't seen one thoroughly since his condition started—when he was ten. That was over five years ago, already.

Sam entered a place with a sign that said it served ice cream out front, before Michael had a chance to catch up to him. His brother came trailing in after a few delayed seconds, already fretting over how much this was going to cost. The sign said the place had ice cream, not cheap ice cream.

The place was surprisingly busy. There wasn't much of a line, but the tables and barstools were all filled up with people who were eating the diner's food. A woman with red hair pulled back in a pony tail leaned against the counter upon seeing Sam and Michael enter. When they approached, she greeted casually, "Hey there, boys. What can I get you?"

Sam scanned the items that were written on the chalk board (how quirky) behind the woman, brows furrowing in concentration as he tried to decide what flavor he wanted. "Can I have some strawberry ice cream?" he asked.

She smiled at him. "Sure thing. What about you?" she asked Michael, who wasn't sure he wanted to order anything at all. "We have really good beer," she suggested. "Only seventy cents a can."

"No, thanks. I'm underage."

She grinned. "Too bad."

Michael coughed, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. "I'm good. Just his ice cream," he assured her.

She sauntered away to scoop Sam's ice cream, returning less than a minute later with a small cone. "Fifty cents, sugar," she drawled, and Michael gave her the amount. The look she gave him was unsettling, to say the least, so when Sam started licking his ice cream on the spot, Michael gave an impatient tug on his arm so they could leave.

Sam made a noise around his mouthful of strawberry flavored goodness in protest but followed behind Michael. He looked around the diner one last time—but instead of just checking out the unique décor, his eyes locked on the back of someone sitting at one of the barstools.

The room spun, and suddenly Sam was no longer standing in the diner with a cone in his hand, nor was he with Michael. He was sitting in a desk, surrounded by many other kids his age. A school, he quickly realized; it took him a moment to recognize the setting. The teacher was talking and writing on the board, but he couldn't hear anything she was saying. He was paying attention to the clock – as if he was expecting something. There was a click of a door opening, and then he was back in the diner. Michael was at his side, holding on to his arm to keep him grounded. The ice cream was still in his hand. There was no indication anything bizarre had happened, thankfully, other than Sam's blank stare for those few seconds. But Michael knew. He always did.

"Sam," he said lowly, urgently. He gave the blonde a light shake, snapping him out of his trance. Sam tried to form words, but his eyes were locked with the man that had triggered the vision. He had turned in his stool to face Sam, scrutinizing him intensely with cold blue eyes. Sam quickly averted his gaze, only to notice two other men that were staring at him near the entrance of the diner. He swallowed thickly. The look they were both giving him…

Michael noticed and gave the men a pointed look, never taking his eyes off them as he promptly led Sam outside. He waited for them to cross the street before asking the question at the front of his mind. "Are you okay?"

Sam shook off Michael's grip on his arm. "I'm fine."

"I thought you said you were feeling better, Sam."

"I _am," _he hissed, and then realized there was no reason to get irritated with Michael over the fact that he had had another vision. He sighed, stopped walking, and crossed his arms over his chest. Michael stood behind him, waiting for him to speak.

When Sam said nothing after a few moments, Michael began, "We could go home." He quickly added, "Or you could continue to rob me of all my money," in a weak attempt to lighten the mood.

Sam didn't want that one vision to completely ruin his night. After all, this had been the longest time frame between visions he had ever had—by a lot. Usually they were right on top of the other, all crammed into one jumbled mess. And while this last vision was vague, it was the clearest and most comprehendible he had ever had. Sam wanted to keep running around Santa Carla until the sun rose, but to be honest, he was feeling suddenly drained—as if that small vision had sucked all his enthusiasm and freedom right out of the night. His headache was slowly returning, the dull pain creeping back into his mind.

"Let's just go home," he said quietly. "Please." Michael pursed his lips. He didn't want his brother's first fun night in forever to end on this note, but he couldn't bring himself to say no to Sam, either.

* * *

Only the kitchen light was turned on when they returned home. It was dark outside, but Michael wouldn't call it "late," per se. It wasn't even nine yet. Still, it seemed Lucy had turned in already, and their grandpa… Well, they never knew with him.

Michael made a pit-stop in the kitchen, and Sam followed mutely. The younger of the two settled in one of the chairs at the small, round kitchen table, resting his elbows on the surface and pressing his forehead into his hands. Michael filled up a glass of water and set it in front of him without a word, and just leaned against the fridge. He didn't know how many seconds—or even minutes—had passed until Sam finally said something.

"Thank you."

"For what?" The water? The night?

"Everything."

Michael was silent for a second as he let that sink in. "You're welcome."


	4. Chapter Three

The sound of the water was calming, giving the illusion that the drop really wasn't that far, that the waves wouldn't crush someone and swallow them up if they happened to jump in. For a moment, Sam thought maybe the illusion was real; maybe the water would only caress him, carry him, set him free.

He saw himself standing at the cliff, on the edge of my grandpa's property, arms spread wide. He let himself fall forward, and after a moment of nothing but the sounds of the crashing waves, it ended. The vision was over, because so was Sam—in that version of the future, anyways.

Sam took several steps back. He couldn't allow himself to walk to the very edge of the cliff; he knew that if he did, he would let himself go. He heard the waves and longed for them, but could not witness them. It wasn't that he wanted to die—not necessarily. Sometimes he simply felt that things would be easier if he just freed himself. And that part of his mind would take over if he gave it the chance. The other part of his mind—the one that's been having visions for the last third of his life—was able to see it coming. Sam couldn't let himself go over that cliff. It was ironic, he thought, since he was on the verge of going over a different kind of cliff entirely. Maybe he couldn't help his mind plunging down, but he could stop his body from it. It wouldn't be fair to Michael, either, being the only person who's ever consistently loved him and cared for him. Sam just couldn't do that to him.

The sun was rising over the horizon, lighting up the sky and water with various pink, orange and blue shades, like Heaven itself was shining through the clouds. Michael and Lucy would be awake soon, and another day in Santa Carla would begin.

Sam inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the ocean. It was clean out here, not tampered with by the beach crowd and their trash. He didn't know why he was suddenly able to think, or for how long it would last; he wanted to take in every second he could. His initial high was almost completely gone, and he was sobered by the fact that he just might be done with the uncontrollable visions for good. Maybe. It was probably wishful thinking. But if he stayed like this, he might be able to _enjoy _school when it started on Wednesday, in two days.

"Sam?" He turned around to see Lucy standing on the porch, arms crossed over her tightly-pulled robe. She was chilled outside, and Sam realized that it wasn't as warm as he had originally thought. Goosebumps formed on his arms and his bare feet grew numb. He smiled in response to the questioning look from Lucy, and quickly made his way inside. Lucy didn't say another word; she simply followed suit, closing the front door behind her.

* * *

By the time Michael came strolling groggily into the kitchen, beams of light were protruding through the windows and Sam was munching on a bowl of cereal. "Morning," he greeted the brunette. Michael grunted his response. "Mom left a list," Sam said while Michael scanned the contents of the fridge. The blonde tapped the piece of paper that was laid out in front of him on the table. "Things she wants us to get."

"I'm starting work, Sam. You'll have to get the stuff."

Sam looked up from his cereal quizzically. "Since when do you have a job?"

"I applied yesterday." Michael grabbed a bottle of soda and closed the fridge. "They're really desperate; I was hired right away." They had officially been in Santa Carla for two days, counting their first night.

That _was fast…_

"Where?" he asked curiously. Michael took a seat across from him. Sam couldn't help but feel a little put down by the fact that Michael would be working, even though it meant more money. He felt like, because his head was finally clear, he was now able to actually spend time with his brother. But he supposed with him starting school, it wouldn't really matter—unless Michael took after Lucy and started working very late nights. The older brother wasn't in school anymore, after all.

"At some video store. I can't even remember the name right now."

At least there might be some free videos… "Nice. How long are you gonna be gone every day?" He crossed his fingers he would get at least a few hours in with Michael every day.

"Ten to six today."

Sam only nodded. He didn't want to sound desperate by asking what times Michael would normally be working, or how much they would get to spend time together. How clingy would that sound? They've spent tons of time together while living with their dad. The only different was that Sam wasn't exactly "there."

"So you're okay with taking care of the shopping list?"

"Yeah," Sam assured with more confidence than he felt. "I think I can do it." Money wasn't rocket science. Well, unless you haven't paid attention in school for the last five years.

"You've handled money before, right?"

"Of course I have." _Not once._

Michael took a sip of his Coca Cola. "Want some?" He offered the bottle to Sam.

"I probably shouldn't…" Sugar wouldn't be very good for his mind right now. Michael shrugged and screwed the cap back on.

"I should get going."

Sam stole a glance at the clock and instantly protested, "But it's nine."

"Yeah," Michael said casually, standing up and stretching. He grabbed his soda and headed leisurely for the doorway. "I wanna get there early. First day." He winked at Sam. "I'll be back. Stay cool, bro."

* * *

Sam later discovered an alternative meaning to what Michael had said, while he spent about two hours in a grocery store trying to figure out everything that was needed and how much of a budget Lucy had left him. It wasn't scalding outside like in Arizona, but _damn _was it hot in the store. And the disgusting part was that so many people were coming inside and getting their sweat all over everything, and exhaling their hot breath into the air, and loitering in every aisle with their tanned, wet beach bodies. Sam couldn't _wait _to leave that place; he sucked in as much clean air as he could on his bike ride home to rid himself of the claustrophobic environment.

Two bags of groceries were placed neatly into the basket in front of the handlebars, and a thin milk jug was held onto with one hand and rested between his legs. He pedaled carefully, but couldn't slow down without losing his much needed momentum to keep everything in place. Because of that, the bike ride was longer than it should have been; it was nearly three o' clock by the time he returned home.

Sam took his time putting everything away, since he had nothing else planned. And might as well waste some time by reorganizing the fridge, he figured. Of course, that ended up taking him much less than three hours to accomplish, so he ended up dusting things until four. _I'm a freak, _he thought as he looked down at the dirty rag. Normal teenagers didn't clean. But they did spend a lot of time in their room. With that thought in mind, and overcome with productivity, he bounded up to his room to unpack and set up the things he had brought with him. Not much to deal with, but he could at least_ start_ to make his room his own now. So Sam cracked open a window (because it was stuffy as a teddy bear), and got to work.

Time seemed to pass by more quickly as he slowly figured out where to put what, and what he might be interested in stealing temporarily from Michael's room as decoration. "Are those my glasses?"

Sam started, nearly dropping the dark sunglasses. He hadn't even heard Michael return; the brunette stood leaning in Sam's doorway, looking amused but slightly confused. He held a thick case in his hand. Sam's eyes instantly traveled to it and lit up. "Is that a movie?" Michael flashed the front: Indiana Jones.

"You got the food?" Sam nodded vigorously. Michael grinned. "I'll see if there's popcorn." He tossed the movie at Sam and disappeared downstairs. The blonde was quickly descending the stairs behind him; one went into the kitchen and the other strolled over to the television to start putting in the VHS tape. Once the movie was inserted, Sam waited to press the button that would start it. He sat back on the couch, listening to Michael move about in the kitchen as he got their popcorn ready.

The sound of kernels popping on the stove drifted into the living room, and Sam saw headlights through the windows. A car door slammed. Sam checked the clock—7:30. Michael had been done with his shift later than planned, and Lucy was home early, apparently. And because it was January, it was black outside. Sam heard a knock at the door and furrowed his brows. He got up leisurely, uncertainly. Who was knocking on _their _door? They were too far out of the city for it to be some sort of prank or religious people with pamphlets.

Sam peaked out of the window and saw his mother's car parked outside, still running but empty of a person. He tried to turn the doorknob but it was stuck – jammed to the point where it wouldn't even budge. Unlocked, but unmoving. "Mike," he called, putting all of the muscle he had behind it, which wasn't very much. He leaned back and tugged, but still nothing. "Mike!"

Michael emerged from the kitchen, expecting Sam to be having trouble with playing the movie. He stopped short when he saw his brother hanging on the doorknob in a desperate attempt to open it. "What are you doing?"

"I think Mom's outside. But it won't open." Sam stepped aside to allow Michael access to the door. The brunette checked the lock first and then tried opening the door normally, as if Sam had completely fucked that step up and that was the source of all the trouble. The blonde rolled his eyes lightly.

There was a knock again, this time more fiercely. Michael started putting muscle behind his pulling—much more likely to fix the jam than Sam's wimpy attempts. But, still, not a single budge. It was as if the door was bolted shut with steel. "What's wrong with it?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Michael answered as he stalked back through the kitchen. Sam walked rapidly after him. There was a side-door in the kitchen that Michael was headed for. Sam wondered why Lucy wouldn't just go around the house to use that door if the front one was stuck.

The very second Michael's hand touched the doorknob on the side-door, Sam was struck by a very fast-paced, flickering vision. His eyes widened and he reached out his hand to slam the door shut again when Michael opened it an inch. He gave Sam a questioning look, and his face fell when he saw the look his brother was giving. "What?" He felt sick anticipating the answer. What had Sam seen?

Sam swallowed thickly and whispered, "My window, upstairs. It's open."

"What—?"

"Someone's in my room."


	5. Chapter Four

**Thank you all so much for the feedback so far! :D The reviews really motivate me ^.^ As wanted, here's the next chapter!**

* * *

The pounding on the door turned from consistent and pushy to frantic and demanding. The knob and hinges shook with the strong force, but never opened. Despite the alarming noise, the front door was merely background sound to them at the moment, along with the popcorn on the stove.

Michael reacted first, opening up a kitchen drawer to pull an impressive knife out. Sam locked the side-door with considerably more urgency and followed his brother's lead up the stairs. Sam could tell Michael wasn't nearly as scared as he was, but maybe that was because a part of Michael didn't believe the blonde. The older of the two lacked the urgency and panic that Sam held, and the knife was just to make Sam feel better. After all, how did someone drawl through Sam's window when it was on the second floor? Sure…

"Mike," Sam breathed, creeping up behind the brunette. He stayed back several steps once they were on the second floor. Michael pushed open the door to Sam's room with only a smidgen of hesitation. In that instant, the door downstairs sat still and silent. The room hung in suspension—to Sam, at least. He held his breath for several long moments as Michael took one, two, three steps into Sam's room. As if reading Sam's mind, he looked on the other side of the door.

Nothing and no one.

Michael sighed and walked to Sam's wide-open window. Sam shivered from the cool gusts of wind that blew in from it. Michael closed the aged window with some effort and turned to face his perplexed little brother. He threw his arms out as if to say, "See? You're too paranoid."

But Sam was more than just paranoid. Something wasn't right. He could feel it in his gut. Danger. Danger was somewhere very, very close. But where?

Michael stepped towards Sam from where he had been standing by the window, passing by Sam's closet. The popcorn was screaming on the stove, ready to explode. A glint of light caught in Sam's eye—the knob of his closet turning. And the very second the popcorn exploded—before Sam could do anything more than open his mouth in a warning that never made it—the door burst open with a loud _bang_!

Michael was tackled from the side and instantly hit the floor from the impact. The knife, which he had been holding loosely in his hand, slid out of his grasp and under the bed. Sam stood frozen in fear for what felt like eternity but was probably only two seconds as a man buried his face in Michael's neck. Michael was a strong individual—so Sam thought—so to think someone smaller than him was completely restraining him… It had to be almost _supernatural _strength driving the man.

Sam reacted when Michael began shouting obscenities, at first only startled and stunned, but the yelling quickly turned into pained screams. Michael was _screaming. _

The blonde came up behind the man and tried pulling on his face, neck, shoulders. He pounded on his back, yelled curses, but the man only reacted when Sam dug his nails into his stone-hard face. Beads of red swelled and the man hissed—fucking _hissed, _like a snake. He released Michael, who had suddenly gone silent and lay limply on the floor, and stood to his full height. He wasn't very tall—maybe an inch taller than Sam—but Jesus Christ was he intimidating. He _oozed _danger, like a wild animal let out of its constraints. Alarmed, Sam backed away. In the blink of an eye, he was met face-to-face with their attacker. Blood was smeared across the man's chin and dripped from his red lips. The cuts Sam had created healed right before his eyes. Long canines protruded out of the monster's gums when he bared his teeth at Sam. And his eyes… His eyes were a foreboding coal black. No whites showed. They were soulless, and Sam could imagine the man was, too. That much Sam could gather.

They locked eyes and Sam's breathing hitched in his throat. His heart pounded and his hands shook with fear and adrenaline. Hands held his shoulders with an iron grip and yanked him forwards. The man eagerly pressed his bloodied mouth to Sam's neck, and bit.

* * *

_And then I found out how hard it is to really change_

_Even Hell can get comfy once you've settled in_

_I just wanted to numb inside me to leave_

_No matter how fucked you get, there's always hell when you come back down_

He wasn't as crazy as the others. Everyone thought he was nuts, though-a danger to others, as they had said in court. Putting him here was supposed to be a favor—but Sam thought that spending the rest of his life in jail would've been kinder. He wasn't crazy. But if he had to spend another week in this place, he might just snap.

_I'm not crazy. What I did was done out of love. That's not wrong, is it? Why won't they believe it wouldn't have stopped unless I did it?_

Sam had been pacing in his room for hours before finally sitting down on the end of his bed. He had no roommate, unlike the others. Because he "might try something" if he did, apparently.

_I'm not delusional. And I'm not alone_, he said to himself as he tried to regulate his breathing. He pulled his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

Not yet.

_Because we all walk alone on an empty staircase_

_Silent halls and nameless faces_

_I am powerless…_

* * *

When he came to, the room appeared the same—brightly lit. That was the first thing he realized; from his perspective, nothing had changed. His head was turned to the right and he was looking at his ajar closet. Sam groggily sat up and winced in pain. His fingers found the stale wound at his neck, where blood was dried down to his chest. But none of it was fresh anymore, which meant it had probably clotted over. How he was still alive he had no idea...but he didn't get to think it over very long. He looked to his left - and there Michael was, laying face-first in a large pool of his own blood.

Sam's heart dropped to his feet, and he scrambled over to his still brother. "Mike," Sam breathed, reaching out for him. Sam sat on his knees next to Michael and, unsure how he would go about flipping the larger man over, pressed two fingers against the brunette's neck, feeling for something, _anything. _

"Come on, Mike." His fingers shook and he was afraid that his breathing was too loud to be able to hear or feel any kind of pulse, so he leaned his head close to Michael's and pressed harder, holding his breath.

All Sam heard was the pounding of his own heart in his head. All he felt was Michael's cold skin.

The air whooshed out of his lungs and he fell back on his rear. He stared at the scene before him, growing numb. After another moment his head started spinning and he felt like he was going to be sick. He held his stomach and heaved to the side, but nothing came up. Sam gasped for breath and clutched at his chest, staring at the hardwood floor that was spattered with drops of red.

"All clear!"

His heart jumpstarted when he heard someone call out from somewhere else in the house.

They weren't gone.

From his spot on the floor, Sam spotted the knife that lay under his bed yet—and quickly snatched it. Mixed with his numb shock, rage coursed through him. He gripped the handle tightly in his hand, positioned himself on the other side of his bedroom door, and waited.

It only took a minute for the man—the _monster_—to make his way from downstairs to the second floor. Sam could hear the footsteps, in courtesy of the heavy boots he assumed the man was wearing. He held his breath and waited for the man to decide whether or not to go down the hall or turn into Sam's room. The blonde heard a pause in the footsteps, and then two more creaking steps; the man must be looking into Sam's room, and he probably saw that Sam was no longer lying on the floor unconscious. Sam's suspicion was proved when he felt a presence nearing, and then he knew the only thing separating him from Michael's murderer was two inches of wood.

Just like when Michael had originally gone upstairs to check Sam's room, the air hung in suspension—except this time, Sam was the one hiding and waiting to attack. Oh, the irony.

Sam was ready—as ready as he would ever be in his life to stab somebody.

_Bring it fucking _on, _bastard. _

But the man didn't stroll into Sam's bedroom like he had expected. No—he pushed the door and it swung towards the frame, completely revealing Sam. Deterred for only a fraction of a second, Sam let out a cry of rage and launched himself at the man. If his mind had been clearer, he would have realized that this man wasn't the same one. In fact, the guy he was attempting to stab looked _nothing _like Michael's attacker. But Sam didn't care. This blonde guy had to be in on it. He had to have had a part in it somehow.

Sam's attempts at attacking the man were futile; he was restrained as easily as if he was a toddler throwing a tantrum. His wrists were held in that similar vice grip as before, and the blonde man squeezed Sam's left wrist until the knife dropped. He winced in pain and tried kicking out with his legs, which turned out to be just as useless. "No!" he yelled, shaking his head side to side. "Let go of me! Get the fuck off!"

The door gave way for a tall brunette who glided in as if he was walking on air. Sam recognized him instantly, and after a few more clicks, he recognized the blonde too. "_You_," he hissed through tight teeth. The blonde—the man that had triggered Sam's vision in the diner—tightened his grip on the boy's wrists. "'Free piercings' my ass, fucker!" But the brunette said nothing. He only knelt down by Michael's body. Sam jerked violently against the platinum-haired man restraining him. "_Get away! Don't touch him!_" he nearly screamed, suddenly panicked. "_Leave him alone_!"

"David," the tan brunette said solemnly, and gave him a look that said, "You're not going to like this…"

David and the brunette exchanged a long look, as if they were having their own conversation that Sam couldn't hear, and then David sighed. He pulled on Sam, moving him, to which the boy responded by digging his heels into the floor. Again, to no avail. The platinum-haired man was much stronger than he was, and before Sam could protest any further, he was thrown into the hall and the door was slammed and locked in his face.


	6. Chapter Five

**Finally! It feels like it took me so long to complete this one. :P Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed, followed, and favorited so far! Cookies to all of you! I try to respond to all of you, but if for some reason I don't, it's probably because I somehow lost the email and never replied, so I'm sorry if that happens. XD Just a disclaimer for the future, haha. Anyways, go on and read it! Kisses to you all! :3**

* * *

"Hey!" Sam's fists collided with the door repeatedly, but he may as well have been trying to walk through a brick wall. No amount of yelling on his part was going to let him in or stop those assholes. He beat on it one last time and cried out in frustration. The stairs had never been shorter; he threw himself down them and propelled into the kitchen. But, after yanking open some drawers, he reminded himself that a knife wasn't going to get him very far. Not when Michael hadn't been able to defend himself with it.

He sighed in exasperation and ran into the living room, where his eyes leveled in on the fireplace poker. It had been recently sharpened by his grandpa, who seemed to insist on keeping everything extra dangerous in the house.

Sam lifted it, and it was much heavier than he presumed—but he could handle it. When he turned around and made a move to go back up the stairs, his bedroom door opened and out stepped the two men—with Michael tossed over the brunette's shoulders. Sam raised the deadly poker and was about to warn them that he was skilled and dangerous and would hurt them. Except, much to his surprise, the potential weapon was taken out of his grasp from behind him.

He reeled around and looked up at the tall blonde behind him. And, like the other two, Sam recognized him instantly. The only thing the man was missing was his stoner sunglasses.

Now Sam was fucked.

He backed out of the man's vicinity, farther into the living room. Thankfully, the man's focus seemed to be on David and the guy carrying Michael. "He got away," he said, and experimentally tapped the poker against the stairs. It took little effort on his part, but it left a big dent. Sam gulped. "What's up with _him_?" The tall blonde moved out of the way to allow the other two (well, three including Michael) through.

"He's dead," David informed him. His eyes went wide.

"I thought he was just knocked out or something."

"So did we," the brunette deadpanned. He swiftly walked to the door, as if Michael's weight was nothing to him.

"Wait, where are you going?" Sam found his voice again. Anger worked its way back to his heart, replacing the sorrow for now. For a moment he had been afraid of these men—fearful of his life. But now, quite honestly, he didn't give a single care what happened; he just didn't want his brother's body taken away for God knows what purpose. A small voice in his head told him that these men weren't his attackers at all and were trying to help in their own way, but a much larger voice told it to screw off.

His question went unanswered; the men kicked open the front door (so it was opening again?) and filed out onto the porch. But really, did Sam expect them to respond?

He followed close behind, but when they left the porch, he stayed. There was his mom's car—still running and empty, like it had been before. Where _was _she? Could he now presume that she was probably dead, just like _Michael_? Sam tried to speak again (something that would have been pointless anyways) but this time he choked.

_Am I alone?_

"How convenient," David the Asshat leered as they approached the parked vehicle. "We'll take him," he ordered the other blonde. "You stay here and keep watch." The brunette laid Michael across the back seat and David opened the driver's side door.

"Sure thing." The tall blonde backed away from the car. He turned on his heels to face the porch, where Sam stood stiffly. Three car doors slammed before the car made a U-turn and sped down the long dirt driveway. Sam heard the car accelerating down the road, and then he didn't hear anything other than the sounds of crickets somewhere in the tall grass outside. A hundred questions floated around his mind, but one stuck out over the others: How could he have let them leave?

Sure, he wasn't going to run out screaming and try to tackle them to the ground—because what would that do? But how could he have stood there? It was as if he couldn't move his legs, no matter how hard he tried. He just couldn't bring himself to do anything about what was happening. Maybe it was the anger that had ebbed away when his mind slowly came to rationalize the situation (if that was possible, given what had happened), letting the numbness from before return. Or maybe, deep down, he knew something that he wasn't allowing himself to accept, and that part of his mind was keeping him silent and stuck. No, it had to be the former. Yes, that was it.

"You okay?"

It took several moments for Sam to realize the blonde was speaking to him. He shook away his thoughts for now and, as a small but satisfying form of reprisal, ignored the question.

Despite the chilly wind, the unnamed man didn't seem the least bit bothered by the temperature. He wore a netted shirt beneath an unzipped jacket, shamelessly exposing his front. Well then. Maybe Sam was so thin he couldn't stand the slightest bit of cold. But then he noticed that he couldn't see the man's breath when he exhaled, and his cheeks weren't flushed like a regular person's.

Something was very wrong with this man—he could _feel _it. It was hard to describe, and completely unlike anything Sam had experienced before, but there was a very strong vibe that screamed _different_. No, not different.

Dangerous.

Images of black eyes and fangs flashed in the back of his mind as he remembered what had happened before he had passed out, and he quickly took a step away from the blonde man, even though they still stood a good ten feet away from each other. Sam didn't know why he hadn't noticed those vibes before, when he had been standing even closer to his man in that little jewelry shop.

"Hey," the blond said, furrowing his brows and taking a step closer. "Are you all right?"

Sam's eyes rolled in the back of his head and his legs gave out. He didn't even hit the ground before he was completely sucked into his spiraling vision.

* * *

_Chalk on the blackboard, a ticking clock, the scratching of pencils on paper. Sam checked the time, but the clock was fuzzy—out of focus. He couldn't make it out, no matter how hard he tried. _

_He looked around him, at all the other teenagers sitting at their desks. He had a pencil in his hand and a notebook opened up, with half-written notes already in it. He set the pencil down, by will—and that's when he realized, with a start, that this vision felt like it was in real-time. _

Did I just _decide _to put the pencil down?

_The only thing that indicated to him this was a vision at all were the occasional blurry details—such as the time, what his notes said, and the name tag on the teacher's desk. But he was interacting and thinking—something that had never happened to him before. _

_It was like a dream, detail-wise; things weren't as clear as something happening right that moment. But it was an interactive dream, and what's why it felt so real. Sam could see the faces of the kids sitting around him, including their expressions, the texture of their hair, the color of their eyes. _

_Sam felt like he should look for something. Why else would a vision be as peculiar as this? He needed to find something, or someone. So he started watching the people in the room and the objects lining the bookshelves and the teacher's desk. Nothing stood out to him, and he recognized no one. _

_The ticking of the clock got louder. Out of nowhere, a dead, icy feeling crept through his chest; he wondered if that meant something was about to happen, or if that was the extended vision talking. He gripped the edges of his desk and watched the windows and door for whatever he was waiting for. His heart thudded heavily and loudly in his chest and for what felt like a whole minute he waited. _

_The door opened, just like in that quick, fleeting vision he had had in that diner. But this was different. He didn't wake up from his vision as soon as the door opened; Michael wasn't there to snap him out of it. Not that his mind _wanted_ him to come out of it just yet, it seemed. There was something he needed to see first. _

_It was a person. A man, though Sam had to look twice to make sure. Or a boy. However you wanted to look at it; he seemed young. Very young. Possibly only a year or so older than Sam—or maybe he just looked younger than he was. At first Sam thought he was going to be joining the class, but the boy made no move to do so. _

_He was smaller, with a feminine lithe to his shape and very curly blonde hair that was pulled back in a ponytail; curls hung around his face and lay on his shoulders. Sam couldn't believe he was describing a male this way, but he was very lovely—beautiful, even. The way he stood was elegant and confident, demanding attention from everyone in the room. _

_He received all of the attention they could give him. _

_The boy's eyes made contact with Sam, who swallowed when the boy smiled at him. But Sam couldn't see his eyes—not in detail, anyways. It was like his vision wasn't allowing him to. It was frustrating because he could see every other detail very clearly, from the boy's very curly head to his leather boots. It caused Sam even more annoyance when it was obvious the rest of the class was affected deeply by the boy's eyes, whatever it was about them. _

_"I'm kidnapping you, Sam," he said with a knowing smile. Sam looked around and was troubled by the trance that the teacher and other students seemed to be in. _

I don't understand. What am I supposed to do?

_What was the point in this? Was he supposed to decide whether or not to go? Was he required to trust whoever this was and just follow his lead? Was there something big he was missing? _

_"Sam." It didn't come from the boy, or anything concrete. It was an echo in the room—in his head. He felt stupid for looking up, but he did it anyways. "Sam…" _

_He felt a jolt and was shoved forward in his chair by an invisible force. Someone was calling him back. _

_"Wait!" he shouted. "I don't get it!" Whoever it was, they couldn't hear him; he felt the shove again. It physically hurt when he fell out of his chair and smacked the ground roughly. And then he was being pulled out of the vision after what felt like an eternity of sitting through it. _

* * *

Coming out of this one was different than others he had experienced. Instead of snapping out of it abruptly, he was slowly being pulled out, until he was witnessing the classroom scene and feeling the surface his real body was laying on at the same time.

"Sam?" The voice was much closer now, and Sam knew he was getting to the point of waking up.

When he opened his eyes, his vision was very unfocused; he could make out the blonde guy he had last seen and an older man with glasses looking down at him, a little too close for his liking. He lifted his head to attempt to sit up, his head spun, and they were the last things he saw before he passed out cold.


	7. Chapter Six

Sam had no dreams. He was out cold, stuck in blackness, for what could have been several hours or several days; he couldn't tell. But he did come around eventually, slowly blinking open his eyes. Wherever he was, the lighting was dim, so thankfully his eyes didn't have to adjust to any harsh light. He felt warm, and it didn't take him long to realize that was due to the several blankets draped neatly over his body. He was in a bed, but he didn't recognize the room.

Sam slowly looked around the room, from the lamp on his right to the dresser, the door, and then the chair in the left corner. His heart kicked into double time and his eyes widened when he saw the man sitting in it—the same tall, blonde guy from before. Everything came back to Sam at once and he scrambled to sit up against the headboard, pushing the heavy blankets out of his way.

The man sat in the chair in a relaxed position, one leg balanced over the other and his head titled to the side—fast asleep.

Sam placed a hand over his chest to calm his heart. He breathed as silently as he could, as if exhaling too loudly would wake up the man. Once his heart rate was dropped enough to think clearly, he oh so carefully lifted the blankets off his legs and lowered his feet one by one onto the floor. The floorboards creaked when he put his full weight on them and his heart skipped a beat, but the man made no move of waking.

There was a mirror propped against one of the corners by the door and Sam caught a glimpse of himself. He was wearing the same clothes, but there was no blood on his neck—only two punctures by his collar bone that were clotted. There was a noticeable stain on his shirt but it was pink, as if someone had tried to wash it off. Still, there was no saving the material; it would have to get thrown out.

He winced when turning the door knob, willing the click to be less audible. He made sure the door was shut completely before he left it be, hoping that if the man woke up in the next few seconds, Sam would at least get a warning when the door made a lot of noise opening back up.

When Sam stepped into the hall, he realized that it was sometime in the morning. Dawn, he could tell by the lighting. How long had he been asleep? Was it the next morning, or had days passed?

He held his breath as he walked down the hall one very careful step at a time, in case someone else was around. From all the people he had stumbled into the last time he was awake, there could very well be a whole cluster of killers waiting for him in the living room.

When he rounded the corner, there wasn't a barrage of people standing there—but the room wasn't empty.

Surprisingly enough, it _was _the living room he had walked into. There was a man sitting in an armchair, the tableside lamp turned on to illuminate a small portion of the room. Sam had seen him before, that split second his eyes had opened after his very confusing and strange vision. The older gentleman with the glasses. He looked up at Sam from the book he had been reading, and something told Sam he had already known his guest was awake.

"Hello," he greeted, politely shutting his book and setting it down next to the lamp. He smiled at Sam and folded his hands together on his lap. "How are you feeling?"

Sam gaped. "How am I _feeling_?"

"You looked dreadful when you came here," the man explained. "I'm happy to see you already look much better." He stopped, as if he was expecting Sam to say something. When the blonde didn't, he carried on, "Of course, you would look even better if your neck healed completely. I hope that wasn't too painful for you."

Sam really didn't care for any of this chit-chat. He just wanted to know where he was, who these people were, and what had happened to Michael. The man must have read his mind, because he said, "I'm sorry about Michael. It was my fault, really; I didn't think slipping him the necklace would cause any problems. He'll be fine, but I'm afraid he won't be exactly how you remember him."

Sam eyed the man wearily, looking for any sign that he was lying. "They said he was dead."

"He was. But I assure you, he's all right now." He took his glasses off and placed them on top of his book. He pushed up from his knees into a standing position. From his seat, Sam hadn't been able to tell just how _tall _he was. When he took several steps forward, Sam took one hesitant step back. The man outstretched his hand and said, "My name is Max. I'm Michael's boss." Sam didn't even think about shaking this guy's hand. After a moment of no response on Sam's part, Max sighed and said, "I understand. You want answers, not an introduction."

_Damn right, _Sam thought.

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

"I'm not much of a cook, but I'm sure Marko could make something for you." Max stepped around Sam, who never took his eyes off the older man. "What would you like?"

Sam watched the man disappear into another room and stared after him, baffled. He shook his head and followed, though; in his mind he had no other option. This man might give him answers, there could be weapons or dangerous people throughout the house that would come out if Sam tried to leave, and there was a chance that Michael was here—or that Max knew where he was. Those were enough reasons to make Sam follow.

"I'm really not hungry," he insisted, but that went right over Max's head.

"You aren't allergic to anything, are you?"

"No," he replied, and quickly added, "But I don't want anything." Truthfully, he didn't trust anything that Max had to give him. And it didn't feel right, eating breakfast in a situation like this. He needed to find Michael and Lucy. Then he would consider eating.

Max led Sam into a dining room that had an open doorway that attached to the kitchen. The table was long enough to fit a dozen or so people, and the room was overall nice, with various plants and paintings to complete it.

It was an old house—probably a Victorian. Sam couldn't be sure about that until he looked at the outside, though. Max pulled out a chair and gestured for Sam to sit. He did, reluctantly, and Max took a seat opposite him. "So," Max began with a pleasant smile on his face. "Sam. While we wait for your food—" the scraping of pans could be heard from the kitchen "—I'd be happy to answer some of yours questions. But only if you promise to answer some of mine after."

Sam didn't know what kind of questions Max could want to ask him, but he nodded.

"Good." Max folded his hands together on the table. He waited, and Sam was unsure whether or not he could start asking questions until Max prompted, "Go ahead."

Sam sat up in his chair, keeping his hands on his lap; he didn't trust leaving them out in the open on the table, feeling they were vulnerable that way. "Where's Michael?" He almost asked "Where's my brother?" but he was worried that that would come across as aggressive; there was something about this man that said "I'm playing nice for now but don't make me angry."

"He's in good hands." Sam opened his mouth to object to that; he wanted explanations, not vague words! "He's with my boys," Max clarified. "David and Dwayne. You might have come across them already. They're taking care of him; you'll be able to see him when they feel he can handle it."

Sam swallowed thickly. He didn't know if he wanted to hear more details on what was wrong with Michael now—what was different about him. Was he really going to be the same? What had they done to him? But no, he couldn't hear about that now. He was glad to know his brother was alive. That was good enough. Sam wanted to focus on that, and not anything negative involving Michael. Not right now. "What about my mom?"

"Your mother?"

"Yeah… She came home. I think. But she never came inside. David used her car to bring Michael wherever they were going."

"I'm sorry, but I don't know anything regarding her," Max said solemnly. "We can search for her, if you'd like, but I don't know if we would find her alive."

Sam nodded, accepting that. He was never close with his mother—never spent much time with her at all. Of course he cared what happened to her, but with everything going on, he didn't see a point in dwelling on whether she was alive or dead. He would find out in time, and he would deal with it then. One issue at a time, right? Call him an ungrateful kid who didn't give a shit about his own mom, but he was sitting across from someone who gave off intense psychotic-killer vibes and was trying to feed him against his will, like something out of Hansel and Gretel. Sam's mind was focused on what was happening right that moment, not what the future held.

"Who attacked us? And…what were they?"

"A vampire we've been watching for many weeks now. His companion slipped away, but we were able to kill the one that attacked you and Michael. Well—my _boys_ killed him." Sam's head was still reeling around the word "vampire," but Max went on with his story-telling. "They were keeping track of the duo last night because I told them to. I think you've been watched for several days now. David tells me they were immeasurably drawn to you when they saw you around the city." Sam thought of that time he had seen David in that diner, along with those two guys who had stared at him oddly. That had to be the incident Max was talking about. "So when they went to your house, my boys were close behind. I'm glad we were able to save both of you." There was an odd inflection on "both" when Max spoke, making Sam think they had expected at least one to die—or they had been hoping for one in particular to live.

"Why were they drawn to _us_, of all the people in Santa Carla?"

Max's eyes twinkled. "You seem like a smart young man, Sam. I think you can figure that one out."

He instantly thought of his vision. David and the two…vampires…were the only people in the whole diner who had somehow known something was going on with Sam when his vision had hit him. Somehow they _knew _what was going on. So…was this Sam's fault? Michael almost died because some guys found out about his little brother's secret?

A figure appeared in the doorway to the kitchen—a short blonde with one hand hitched at his hip and the other gripping a spatula. "He's actually going to eat, right? Because it's taking a long ass time to thaw the sausage." Sam's eyes widened; he almost instantaneously recognized the boy. He was wearing the same shades as that night in the jewelry shop, when he had been sitting on the bench next to the other blonde guy upstairs.

And he was wearing his hair the same as he had been in Sam's most recent vision.

"Yes, Marko, he will," Max assured him. Marko had a whatever-the-hell-you-say expression when he sauntered back into the kitchen, but he did resume cooking. "We don't get company very often," Max said. "He's the only one of us who remembers how to cook. The rest of us… Well, we've long forgotten." He chuckled, and then noticed Sam's expression. "Are you all right, Sam? You look ill."

Sam had gone pasty white, still staring at the doorway where Marko had just stood. "Yeah," he breathed. "Just fine."


	8. Chapter Seven

**I wanted to take the time to thank everyone who's reviewed so far! I really appreciate the feedback ^.^ I didn't finish this chapter as quickly as I had hoped, but oh well. :P Hopefully chapter eight will be faster, right? ;)**

* * *

"Who is that?" Sam asked when Marko had completely disappeared. He had a feeling the curly-haired boy could hear everything that was being said (how else had he known to make food when Max had never lifted his voice above a relaxed volume?), and Sam was aware that if they classified that question as being too "nosy," they could respond unpredictably. And there was an unspoken question that hung in the air—something Sam was almost too afraid to ask. He needed to build up his courage to face it, and until then, he would work his way up with smaller-scaled questions. Sam needed to gauge Max's reaction to things the older man might consider probing. He had been gracious so far, but Sam felt anything but warm around him.

"Marko?" Max asked, surprised Sam was inquiring such a thing. "He's with me." As if that was everything Sam needed to know about him.

"_With_ you?"

"Yes. Would you like something to drink?" Sam was missing out on some kind of lingo here, he knew it. If he was going out on a limb here and assuming they were vampires like the man that attacked him and Michael, then was that some kind of undead slang? "With me" could mean so many things, and Sam's mind wandered on that subject.

"No…" he answered cautiously, afraid of what he would be given if he said yes.

"Are you sure you don't want water? You look parched."

How could Max _see _that Sam was thirsty? He had gotten a glimpse of himself in that mirror upstairs, and while he looked like he'd been through quite a bit of action—what with the blood-stained shirt and all—he hadn't thought he looked…bad.

"I'm fine," he insisted, uncomfortable enough with the fact they were trying to feed him. Speaking of which. "Why are you making me food, anyways? Shouldn't you be locking me up in the basement so I don't spill anything I shouldn't to the outside world?"

Max chuckled and his eyes dropped to the tablecloth for a brief second. Sam was unnerved by the fact that Max hardly moved ever. He didn't fidget, either, or barely move a muscle. He was completely still, yet he seemed at ease at the same time. It was…odd, to the say the least. "I have no desire to do that, Sam. I'm confident you won't become a liability when you leave. Not when your brother's safety relies on your silence."

Everything stopped. He swore that even his heartbeat stilled for a fraction of a second. Max watched Sam with a small smile on his face—the same friendly front he'd been putting up the whole time. "What?"

"Actually, the safety of all of us depends on you keeping our secret, but that includes Michael now, as well."

"What secret?" he asked slowly.

"Our nature," Max explained thoughtfully. "In a way, we're the same as the man that attacked and bit you. We're vampires." His grin never faltered, and Sam grimaced.

"Michael…"

"Is one of us now. It isn't as bad as you might think, Sam. We can go over what it entitles later, before you go to see your brother. I wouldn't worry a second about it, if I were you."

"But when Michael and I leave…he'll still be okay…right?"

Max sighed. "Michael will be staying here. You're free to leave when you wish, but he won't be going with you."

Something snapped inside of Sam, and he stood abruptly. "I'd like to see you try to make him stay," he challenged.

"Sam…" Max began calmly, but Sam cut him off.

"You can't keep him here as your…your prisoner!"

"It's for the better."

"According to you! _He's not staying_!" He was growing frantic at the thought of having to live without Michael—not because he was dead, but because he was being kept against his will by vampires for all of eternity.

Marko stood in the doorway with a plate of hot food that, under normal circumstances, Sam would have probably salivated at the sight of. He turned his back to both of them and stalked out of the dining room, through his anger barely catching Marko's enraged, "Are you kidding me?"

Sam's first thought was to walk right out the front door—which he was allowed to do. Max had made that clear. But he still had no idea where Michael was being kept; staying was his only way of discovering that location. Once he knew it, he would work on how to get both of them out of this situation.

He yanked open the first door he came across, down a secluded hall that he may or may not have been in already; he couldn't really remember. The layout of the house was disorienting. Sam planned on locking himself in it, until he calmed himself and thought of what he was going to do next. He slammed the door and gripped his hair tightly with his fists, pacing the room. It took a good five seconds for him to notice the still-sleeping blond in the corner, completely unstirred by anything that had happened so far.

_Damn. He's really out cold, isn't he?_

The sun was completely unsheathed outside, now, and the only thing keeping the room from flooding with light was a very thick curtain over a small window. It was placed in a way that, if the curtain was pulled back, the sleeping vampire would be in the direct path of sunlight.

Sam swallowed, approaching the window tentatively. He glanced back at the vampire, half expecting the man to sense what Sam was considering and snap awake. But he never moved a muscle.

Should he really do this? There were two other vampires in the house (that he knew of), and if they were stronger than he had anticipated, this move could be very, very bad. Then again, vampires were supposed to die in the sunlight, right? If Sam stayed under its cover, they couldn't touch him. Until night fell. But he could sneak out the window before then. But then that would make the Michael situation more complicated. But…

Oh, damn. He really shouldn't.

Sam sighed and lowered his hand from where it had rested on the leather.

"What are you doing?"

His stomach dropped to the floor and he jumped back several feet.

Marko was standing in the doorway (when the _hell_ did the door open?), arms crossed over his chest and looking very pissed. Sam spluttered for some kind of explanation. He knew. Marko knew what he had been thinking for those brief seconds. Fuck. He was dead. He was so dead.

"I…I was…I didn't…" Marko still waited for something, probably wondering what kind of stupid excuse Sam would conjure up.

When it was obvious the blonde was too scared to come up with anything, the vampire cut off the boy's stuttering. "You know, we have something in common, Sam."

"What…what's that?" He was surprised Marko was talking to him at all; he had expected the vampire to kill him instantly.

Marko took one step closer to Sam, who in turn took three steps back. "You care about Michael, right? And I'm sure you'd be _devastated, _if something were to happen to him." He spoke slowly, deliberately, like he wanted Sam to pay _very _close attention to what he had to say. "So why don't you stay focused on yourself…leave the ones _I _care about alone…and everything will be fine." Sam's throat went dry, like he had swallowed a bag of sand. He couldn't speak, only nodded. Marko's smile was sickly sweet. "Good. Now get out of my room."

Sam hesitated, his heart leaping to his throat at the prospect of having to walk so closely to Marko. The curly-haired vampire watched him go, and they never took their eyes off each other. He didn't move, otherwise, which Sam was thankful for; he was sure that if Marko had moved a single muscle, Sam would have died of fright. He never thought it was possible to be so scared of a single person—let alone someone who hadn't even done anything to him. But this menacing fucker just proved Sam wrong.

He ended up locking himself in the bathroom, hoping that if someone wanted to get in, the bathtub would protect him. He didn't know how long he sat there, curled up in the claw-footed, porcelain tub. At some point he must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew, he was opening his eyes to the sight of perfectly clean whiteness. He was rolled onto his side and shrunken down into the tub, so he slowly sat upright.

He felt a sharp pain in his head—an inevitable migraine. Absently, he wondered how long he had been out. A brief few minutes? Couple hours? He still felt exhausted from last night, so he wouldn't be surprised if it was now the evening. Sam was too tired to climb out of the tub when there was no reason to; he didn't even attempt it. He just lay back down and closed his eyes.

* * *

The tall blonde stood outside the bathroom door, ready to rap on the wood with his knuckles. Sam could see him, from an odd angle in the hallway—almost as if he was standing there himself. Somehow, he also knew exactly where this was taking place, and that the door the blonde stood in front of was the door Sam was technically behind. It was clear, minus a few tiny details, just like his vision in the classroom.

The hell? What was up with the confusing visions?

From the other end of the hall, Sam heard, "Let him be." His angle of perception changed and he was looking down the hall at Marko, who was standing with his arms crossed over his chest. Not irritated—just…purposeful. Cocky, even. Ugh, Sam hated cocky people. "He can't be walking around the house when Michael gets here."

"Oh yeah—him. How was he when he woke up?"

Michael? Why were they talking about Michael? Was he here? Even though Sam wasn't physically experiencing this, he still had reactions to everything being said, just like if he was standing in the hall between the two blondes—and his heart leapt out of his chest at the prospect of Michael being near.

"Bad enough that Star took Laddie somewhere else."

The taller of the two grimaced. "What's Max gonna do with him?"

Marko actually paused, much to Sam's surprise; he was going to think over his answer for a second.

_He's hesitating. _

The fuck? Okay, Sam didn't know Marko—at all. But it still surprised him to see a person who seemed so confident respond tentatively to someone he was obviously comfortable around.

"I don't know."

_Fuck! I gotta wake up and do something! _

Sam tried pulling himself out of the vision, afraid that this was happening _right now _and he needed to react as soon as possible. But he was glued to the spot, just like he had been in that classroom.

_Wait, _his subconscious told him.

"Well, we tried." The taller blonde sighed, stepping away from the door. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and eyed Marko. "He could still pull through, though. He wouldn't be the first to go bat shit crazy at first."

Marko was agitated. Not ticked—just tick_ing_. He was bothered by something.

_By Michael?_

Again. The hell was going on?

_Wake up, goddammit! _

"Maybe I gave him too much."

"You didn't. It can't be that." His smiled warmly. "You still rock, Marko."

The _teeniest _little smile formed on the curly-haired boy's face in return. "Thanks, Paul."

A loud _bang! _followed by someone shouting Max's name interrupted…whatever was going on here. The very second that loud noise sounded, Sam snapped out of his vision. He was still laying in the tub, and from the other side of his door he could hear the shouting still. It was happening right now. _He had seen it as it was happening. _Like an out-of-body experience.

Ugh. Just… He wasn't going to focus on that right now. At the moment, his mind zeroed out on one thing.

He bolted out of the tub and unlocked the door with such frenzy his hands fumbled on the handle when he opened it. Sam was running down the hall then, where the noises were coming from, only one name floating through his mind.

_Michael. _


	9. Chapter Eight

It was hell keeping a newly turned vampire concealed when all he wanted to do was rip apart everything and everyone he saw.

Michael was no exception.

He had slept—dead as a doornail for the rest of the night he had been bitten, into the next day. Destined to rise when the sun began to leave the sky.

It had been their hope he'd be a more reasonable vampire, but as soon as the brunette opened his eyes, realized he recognized nothing and no one and there was a burning sensation in the back of his throat, his reaction was exactly what they were prepared for.

His panic resulted in a shattered lamp, several shredded pillows, ripped sheets, and more than a few scratches and bruises on his captors—or so he instinctively called them.

Somewhere between all of that, he was vaguely aware of a woman and a little boy leaving in a hurry. His mind never connected that it was _him _who caused their fear.

Michael had no idea what had happened to him—or what _was _happening to him, for that matter. Hell, for those few minutes he was ripping apart everything around him to get away from the two guys who were _too close to him, _he didn't even know his name. It took one of the men saying it many times for him to remember a couple things.

One – his name was, in fact, Michael.

Two – he had been attacked. By who, or what, he had no clue.

And three… Well, there was no third. His mind could only handle two things at the moment.

"Get away from me!" he bellowed, scrambling to the only sign of an exit he could see—a spiral staircase leading up. It was a desperate attempt to get away from the men that were making him paranoid as hell—a desperate and _futile _attempt.

He was grabbed from behind and thrown backwards, to the far wall of the constricting space he was in. Away from the stairs. Closer to his captors—on the edge of becoming insane from extreme claustrophobia.

In reality, they were several feet away from him—but to Michael, they were looming directly over him, leering and snarling their malicious intentions.

"_Get away!" _he warned, falling on his side and clawing at the boards beneath him. He saw, through blurred vision, long, ghastly nails on his fingers. They left deep indentations in the wood. His throat was burning with an incredible craving for _something_, just like his senses were on fire with an irrefutable need for air. His chest was tight, constricting his air intake to mere gasps.

Michael's clawed fingers found his hair and settled with pulling on that instead of ruining the floor. The pain he experienced from hair coming out of his scalp actually kept him grounded enough to focus on loosening the knot in his chest, until he was breathing in and out quickly but deeply. That also soothed the back of his throat, but only for a moment.

"Help me," he panted without realizing he had even said anything out loud.

But nothing happened. No one did anything—no one helped him. He wasn't even given the courtesy of being put out of his misery. He grit his teeth until they cracked under the pressure, squeezed his eyes shut, and curled up into a ball. And he waited for something to change.

Eventually—after what felt like an eternity—the tightness in his chest loosened until he could breathe more freely again. The pounding in his head ceased; he instead heard nothing. And, finally, his claustrophobia ebbed away; instead, it felt like he was in a very stuffy, warm place. That was all. There was no longer an urge to rip the hair out of his head or claw his way out of this place.

Michael tuned in for any sounds in the room, any signs that the two men were still there, since he was facing a wall and didn't want to move, in fear that awful experience would start all over again. He heard nothing, but he could _smell _them.

_What?_

He smelled the air again. Yes, he could definitely smell them. It wasn't a scent in the air itself, but something he just _knew _was radiating off of each of them. The smells were both very distinct from each other, but they weren't clear-cut; Michael couldn't even begin to pick out exactly what the scents were like.

It was oddly…nice, and it calmed his jumpy nerves even further.

A door creaked open and the noise was like fingernails on a chalkboard to Michael's newly sensitive ears. Michael panicked slightly and thought about getting up—and before his mind had even finished that thought, he was already standing on both feet, facing the spiral staircase. The action had been faster than anything he could have imagined doing.

He saw the two men from before had been lounging around, and as soon as Michael had gotten on his feet, they, too, bolted upright. Michael instantly got defensive and—holy shit he _growled _at them. A low, guttural sound from his chest. How was he capable of making that sound?

They both had the same posture, and it took Michael two-point-five seconds to realize that it was a defensive position. They were bracing themselves against _him. _

Michael backed down instantly—lowered his shackles, if you will. But he didn't dare take his eyes off them, or the person who was descending the staircase.

They stopped when their feet touched the floorboards. A man—more like a boy, actually. With curly hair and sunglasses and a firm expression. The brunette and platinum blonde in the room were both looking between Michael and the person who had just joined them warily.

Michael looked at the boy cautiously, but he didn't feel threatened at all; that fact kept his feet firmly where they were.

Until he smelled him.

It was toxic—a poisonous, green scent that made Michael's stomach do several flips. He felt ill, until he realized he wasn't repulsed by the smell. His stomach clenched painfully because he needed what the scent masked. He felt like it would solve all of his pain completely. He craved it. He wanted to reach out to it. He _needed _it.

So he tried to take it.

Michael made, oh…maybe a quarter of a step before he was stopped in his tracks by a heavy weight slamming him against a hard, unforgiving wall. He stared into bright blue eyes that were owned by the man currently squeezing the shit out of Michael's shoulders, keeping him pressed back. It was a necessary force, since Michael was trying to push him off in a desperate attempt to get to the boy he desired so much. He didn't even know what he would do once he had the boy—he just needed something he knew the boy could give him.

For the second time, Michael growled; his nails extended again and he tried to claw at the face of the man restraining him. He managed to leave a few scratches that oozed red, but otherwise the platinum blonde's hold was unrelenting.

"Michael," came a voice on his right—the long-haired brunette. Michael recognized him from somewhere—he knew he did. But whoever this guy was, he was different. Michael was seeing him from a completely different light—literally. The lighting down here was shit.

And for a second, Michael stopped. Hearing his name brought some reasoning back into him, and he did pause. He locked eyes with the brunette and he managed to think, _What am I doing? _But then the scent hit him again, this time causing him so much pain his knees gave out. He would have fallen to the ground if it wasn't for the man still pinning him tightly against the wall.

How was this happening? How was this only affecting _him_?

"How can you stand it?" he asked through clenched teeth. The curly-haired boy took several steps towards him and Michael cringed. "Can you _feel that_?"

"I guess I should stop using this perfume."

The platinum blonde rolled his eyes. "Why are you here, Marko?"

"I was curious." He tilted his head to the side at Michael. "I wanted to know how he would turn out."

"Obviously he didn't _turn out_ so well," the blonde hissed at him.

Marko narrowed his eyes. "You were the one who asked me to do it. I saved his life, David. You were the reason he died in the first place."

"What the hell are you guys talking about?" Michael breathed, eyes flickering back and forth between David and Marko.

Marko opened his mouth to say something but David cut him off before he could speak. "What about the boy? Aren't you supposed to be watching him?"

Marko rolled his eyes. "He locked himself in the bathroom this morning and hasn't come out since. He's fine. Besides." He looked between David and the brunette standing at Michael's right. "I don't know if you've realized, but the sun's almost gone. Paul's gonna be awake soon."

"You mean Max will be coming home," the brunette corrected. "I wouldn't label Paul as a certified babysitter."

It was at this point in their conversation that something clicked for Michael. Through all his crazy cravings and jumbled up mess of a brain, he was finally able to think through what they were actually saying enough to realize one important detail he had been missing.

_Sam. _

He jerked under David's iron grip and all eyes turned to him. "Where is he?" he asked with a low growl. "_Where do you have him_?" He bared his teeth in David's face as he demanded an answer. David didn't even blink.

There was a long pause. Then, the brunette next to Michael slowly said, "He needs to see Max."

"Obviously," Marko mumbled. "I'll go let everyone know he's awake. Bat shit crazy, but awake."

When he turned and walked away, Michael glowered at his back. He tried to move towards the staircase, but—as much as he hated to admit it—David was stronger than he was.

Marko stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked back at Michael curiously.

"You have to wait," the brunette told the new vampire. "The sun needs to set first."

"Why?" he hissed. "Why can't we leave _right now_?"

"Because if you do that," Marko said with a sweet smile, "you'll burn." Michael was disturbed by the manner in which the boy said that.

_You'll burn. _

It was like he was daring Michael to challenge that statement.

As if Marko would be entertained if Michael did.

"Is he serious?" he asked when the boy had gone.

"Yes," the brunette deadpanned.

Michael swallowed thickly. _God, my throat._

_What did I get sucked into? _


	10. Chapter Nine

**From here on out, I want to give everyone a little disclaimer. Or claimer, technically. Since I'm taking ownership of something. I don't know. Anyways, I'm going to apologize once for this because I don't want to for every chapter. XD I'm sorry for any previous and future grammar errors, since I quite honestly don't read over much of anything I write. I write it all in one sitting, and then I upload it. So, yeah. Any errors...just don't mind them. XD Now, here you go! Technically this is the third chapter I've written in one day, since it's been less than twenty-four hours since I posted chapter seven and all. Anywho. Enjoy. Please. I'm so tired. XD**

* * *

Sam rounded the corner so fast he ran smack into one of _them_—the tall one. Paul, he remembered from his vision. Paul was purposely in his way, blocking his path to the front door where everyone had gathered. Max, who was still wearing his suit and standing beside Marko. The platinum blonde that Sam _knew _he had gotten a name on before. What was it again? Devon?

_Insignificant. _

The brunette that had carried Michael into the car, now standing tensely next to Sam's winded brother. And oh god, he looked so _aghast. _Paler than Sam had ever seen him. Like he was stunned to the core—physically shocked until he was left all twitchy and sweaty and breathless. Simply put, he looked like he had risen from the dead.

_He did, _Sam reminded himself sadly. _And now he walks among the _un_dead. _

"Mike," he breathed, trying to push Paul off of him. He hadn't been expecting Michael to show up looking fresh and renewed, but it was still dreadful to see him so…off. Scared. _Hungry. _

At least, that was what Sam associated with the dark eyes that he knew didn't belong to his brother. Michael's irises were black instead of their usual grey, but at least they weren't a _solid _black through and through, like the vampire that had attacked them.

Michael stiffened at the sight of his younger brother. He could hear Sam's heartbeat and the blood rushing beneath his fragile skin, and Michael was afraid that if he inhaled, he would do something he would never forgive himself for.

He restrained himself from throwing that douche off of _his _little brother and scooping him up and fleeing the scene. Instead, he focused on Max. His boss. He knew that they were the same now; he could sense it. Michael could also feel an invisible rope dragging him toward the middle-aged man. The force beckoned Michael closer, until his full attention was on Max and nothing else.

Max smiled warmly at him. "Hello, Michael. I think we have a few things to discuss." He extended an arm, inviting Michael in. The new vampire accepted the invitation before he even told his feet to move, settling his shoulder under Max's arm as the older man led them away from the others.

Sam held back from saying anything to the two, or going after them. They needed to talk; he would allow them that in peace. Even though Sam was fine with them going somewhere private to speak to each other, he was antsy to know some details himself.

Paul wasn't keeping Sam from doing anything stupid anymore, so the shorter blonde was able to step away from everyone until his back came into contact with a wall. He let his head fall back and exhaled slowly. He was aware that he was wearing the same bloody clothes from last night and his stomach was growling, but little else. Sam was debating leaving the space entirely when Paul broke the heavy silence with something aimed directly at him.

"You hungry?"

"What?" he asked, snapping out of his lazy stupor.

"Didn't you eat anything today?" Paul glanced at Marko, since he was the only one who was home and awake all day.

"I tried."

Sam felt a little guilty that Max had made Marko whip up some breakfast for their human "guest," only for Sam to walk away before he could eat any of it. But his guilt didn't go very far; the blonde had scared the shit out of him two minutes after that.

"We could go out somewhere," Paul offered with a shrug. "I could go for some regular food for once."

The offer was sincere, and Sam was so tempted to take him up on it. His stomach made some more noises. He felt like he would die of hunger if he didn't eat anything soon. And while Paul had certain vibes about him that caused some uneasiness with Sam, they weren't nearly as strong as the others'. And Paul also had never done anything to Sam to cause any distrust between them. Then again, he never did anything to _gain _Sam's trust, either.

_Wait, didn't he bring me back here when I had a vision? And watch me while I was out?_

Well…yeah. He did. Sam supposed being nice and eating something with him could give him the chance of saying thanks.

That is, if it was just them going.

"I'll pass," the brunette standing in the doorway said. "I'm not sticking around."

"Neither am I," seconded the platinum blonde. Max had the situation under control; there was no need for him to stand around. Besides…he had a different kind of hunger to satisfy.

That was much better. Sam gave Paul a small smile and said, "Sure. I'm pretty hungry."

He couldn't believe that for a few seconds, he had completely forgotten about Marko. The boy had remained silent, so Sam assumed he was either staying or leaving too.

The platinum blonde with the D name and the brunette left silently, and Paul and Sam were exiting the house as well. Paul left first, and then, as Sam was about to walk through the doorway onto the porch, Marko sidled in out of nowhere. He cut Sam off while shooting the seer a sharp look and flounced to Paul's side.

Sam gritted his teeth in annoyance but didn't say anything regarding that little "exchange." He knew Marko wasn't tagging along because he wanted to eat out somewhere in Sam's company. Hell no. Marko was coming because he didn't trust Sam enough to leave his _vampire _friend alone with a weak little human. It made no sense why he would be paranoid, but whatever. At least that meant Marko was overestimating Sam's abilities, right?

It was oddly…powering, to know that someone was wary of you because they thought you posed some kind of threat. And it was a really nice exchange. It was the reason Sam didn't back out of the whole going-out plan right then and there.

Paul was looking back at Sam, waiting for him patiently. Sam gave him a sweet smile and joined up.

* * *

"Please. Have a seat," Max offered once the door was shut securely behind Michael to his cozy little office. Well, that's what Michael called it, anyways; there was a mahogany desk in front of a fireplace, old bookshelves and chairs. An office, pretty much. The fireplace was lit. There were no signs of electricity, so the flames and a couple candles provided the only light in the darkly-themed room.

It looked like a vampire hangout, for sure.

Michael checked out the room for a long moment, making sure it didn't look like anything could suddenly become some kind of torture device. Hey, he wouldn't be surprised. But it looked safe, so he slowly took a seat in a comfy chair pushed up against the large desk.

Max sat down as well, directly across from him. The older gentleman folded his hands on the smooth, nearly empty desk (did he even use this room or was it just for decoration?). "What's going on?" Michael spoke first once they were both seated, crossing his arms over his chest and trying to give Max the most deviant look he could muster. "I woke up under your _backyard _feeling like I was going to _die_. What the hell _happened _to me? To _Sam_?" His defiant expression was worked for, but the anger in his voice wasn't. "They said…they said I couldn't come out until the sun set because I'd _burn_." _And I wanted to attack someone…_

"Nothing has happened to Sam," Max assured him. "He was bitten, but that should have little to no repercussions." He waved the matter off. "No, let's focus about _you, _Michael."

Michael eyed him carefully before he spoke again. "What did you do to me."

Max fixed his glasses. "I suppose starting from the beginning makes the most sense." And then, despite just fixing them, he removed his lenses and set them upside-down on the desk. "I don't even need these. They're so bothersome, but." He flashed Michael a smile. "I need to maintain an image."

The brunette gave him a look that literally translated into: _What?_

"It was a coincidence you happened to apply for a job at my store the day after David told me about Sam. I didn't realize you were related to him. The vampire that attacked you was mainly after your brother, and sadly, you lost much more blood than my boys anticipated. They were focused on killing the rogue vampire and disposing of his body properly. Your heart stopped—I'm not sure for how long, but you were very dead when David and Dwayne brought you to me.

"My blood is only beneficial to other vampires that are under my wing. It's an upsetting fact, when I'm faced with cases like yours. The only good my blood will do to a human is change them, and they have to be alive for that. For future reference, I'll have you know that another vampire could always assist you if you're in need of quick healing. However, it's not possible to bring a human back to life with a vampire's blood alone."

"So how did you do it?"

Max smiled at him again, making Michael feel like a stupid, uninformed child who was being educated by a mentor. "I've been gifted with a very valuable resource lately. A bright jewel I was able to obtain several years ago." He looked over Michael's shoulder and had a wistful look on his face. He wasn't telling Michael straight-cut facts, like the brunette had hoped. No, Max was telling stories. And he was getting quite carried away with them. "He brought you back to life. I've been told the extent of his abilities, but I've never seen anything quite like it. It was incredible. Your heart started again, and then I was able to turn you in order to bring you back to your full capacity—and further."

"_Brought me back to life_?" Michael asked disbelievingly. No fucking way.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Michael," Max said seriously, locking eyes with him again. "Marko is an incredible, rare being that saved your life and I am very grateful." Michael was tempted to ask _why _Max was grateful, but the man continued. "But—" of course; there was always a but "—the amount of blood you received from him was…extensive, and unlike your brother's harmless bite on his neck, there _are _consequences to that."

_Great. _

"List 'em."

"Well, for one, you're going to want more. You've probably felt it around him already. It'll take some time for the craving to wear off, but as long as you keep your distance I'm sure it'll be fine. The other consequences are small and insignificant to what I really want to focus on right now."

"And what's that?"

"Our connection."

Michael snorted and rolled his eyes. "What connection?" he drawled. It was a front that was pointless; Max saw right through it.

The much older vampire stood, and suddenly Michael became very conscious of how quiet the rest of the house was to his newly sensitive ears, how huge the desk appeared to be, and how _totally closed _the door was. He didn't want to say Max _sauntered _around the desk to him, but…yeah, he sauntered, while trailing his fingers absent-mindedly along the wood, a couple pieces of paper, and finally…the back of Michael's chair.

He froze, and Max paused. "There is one more thing that must happen before your transformation is complete." Michael's throat felt too dry to speak at all. "I'm your creator, and therefore I have authority over you. But not yet. First, you have to give me something. Willingly." His hand found Michael's shoulder and the brunette cringed.

"I won't." Whatever it was, he refused.

"Oh," Max said, voice dropping as he leaned in to Michael's ear, "yes. You will." Max squeezed Michael's shoulder, and Michael wondered if that was supposed to be calming or something. It made him tense up even more. "Relax. You'll be consenting before you even know it."

There was no more time to react as fangs pierced the tender skin of Michael's neck.


End file.
